


Every Year Again

by neveralarch



Category: Johannes Cabal - Jonathan L. Howard
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9027055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: The Cabal Brothers Do Christmas, much to Johannes' disgust.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autumndynasty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumndynasty/gifts).



> Happy yuletide autumndynasty! This is a treat that got a liiiiitle out of hand, haha. Thanks for requesting this fandom!
> 
> This fic follows The Brothers Cabal. I haven't read the new book yet, so don't tell me if it ruins this.
> 
> Credit goes to my brother for helping me talk out this fic and figure out what parts of Christmas Johannes would especially despise.

The first sign of trouble was when Johannes came home to find an envelope tacked to the gate. It was addressed to the postman, and it clinked when he prodded it with his cane.

"I told you to stop trying to _lure_ the postman," Johannes said to the garden at large.

"We didn't!" screeched the fairies. "Not us!"

"Don't lie to me." Johannes ripped the envelope from the gate. "The postman is off limits, do you understand?"

The fairies grumbled and whined as Johannes walked up the garden path to his door. There he paused again, mind working furiously.

"Did you put this wreath here?" he asked the fairies, but they only grumbled sullenly and would give no clear answer. Johannes prodded the wreath with his cane too, in case it was booby-trapped, but it only rustled gently.

"Strange." Johannes unlocked his door. "What could—"

The sitting room was covered in tinsel and little glowing lights. There were frosted biscuits on a little plate, and paper snowflakes draped across every available surface. And in pride of place there was a great pine tree, almost unrecognizable as a natural object when it was festooned with glass ornaments and colored streamers.

Johannes had forgotten two things while he had been traveling, on a matter of great importance involving necromantic secrets and avoiding an armed mob. First, that they were swiftly nearing the end of December, with all of its unfortunate connotations. Second, his brother was _nostalgic_. It was a truly horrible disease.

"Johannes!" called Horst from the kitchen. "You're just in time!"

Johannes took off his coat and gloves, trying to remind himself that nothing good would come from setting his own sitting room on fire. Then he stalked into the kitchen, which was blessedly free from decorations. Horst was retrieving an object from the oven. He was also wearing a festive red cap and humming _Kling, Glöckchen_ , lamentably out of tune.

"The figgy pudding is done." Horst beamed.

Johannes looked down at the rust-brown, steaming, jiggling entity. "What's in it?"

"Raisins, mostly," said Horst. "Brandy, suet..."

"Beef suet?" prodded Johannes.

Horst laughed. "You are curious, aren't you? Really I should have made this weeks ago and left it to age, but the season almost slipped my mind. Can you imagine? Me! Forget Christmas!"

Johannes had a brief and enthralling vision of a world in which he had come home, tired and worn from the journey, and had been able to settle down with a book. It seemed so impossible now.

"There's eggnog too," said Horst. "Although I imagine you won't enjoy it as much as I do."

The jug of eggnog was also a faint brown, the taint only somewhat mellowed by the natural cream of the drink. Johannes peered at it. "And how many lives were sacrificed for this eggnog?"

Horst settled the pudding on a trivet and slapped Johannes in the arm, hard enough to make Johannes stumble. "It's just rum. I put... a lot in, to be honest. Alcohol doesn't do much for me nowadays."

"Ah." Johannes shook his head. "Well, I'm very tired, so I think I'll just—"

"Johannes, you can't go to bed." Horst's face fell a little. "There's carols and presents and Christmas crackers."

"I'm sure you'll enjoy them," said Johannes.

"There's nothing sadder than popping a cracker by yourself." Horst ladled a generous helping of eggnog into a glass, and then gripped Johannes by the back of the neck and steered him into the sitting room. Johannes found himself unable to avoid being deposited into a chair—any attempt to resist probably would have ended with him being deposited upside down.

"Wait until you see this," said Horst. He'd already given himself a creamy moustache. He fussed about with something on the shelf beside the fireplace. In the fireplace, Johannes noted, was a roaring fire complete with Yule log.

Johannes resigned himself to humoring his brother. It was only for Christmas Eve, after all. Christmas Day was usually for religious contemplation, and as Johannes was fortuitously banned from every church in a fifty-mile radius not even Horst could compel him to go to mass. Johannes would simply have to grin and bear the holiday cheer for a few hours, and then he could make his escape.

"One," said Horst. "One, two, three—"

Horst swung open the box containing the flaming skull of Ercusides, the blue fire licking festively out as the row of severed heads burst into song. They ripped through _O du fröhliche_ , segued into _Vom Himmel hoch_ , and finally _Here We Come A-wassailing_.

"Please make it stop," muttered Johannes.

"Isn't it lovely?" Horst waved his empty eggnog glass. "Your heads are very clever. And bored, apparently."

The heads settled into a crooning rendition of _Stille Nacht_ , and Horst rummaged under the tree. "Here, this is for you, and _this_ ," he held up a pair of lumpy packages. "Well, Mother still thinks we're dead, but I did my best to recreate what she would have given us."

Johannes opened that package first, revealing a truly horrifying jumper. It was knitted with purple, orange and brown yarn, with a design of mutant crows. Horst pulled his own sweater over his head. It was red, brown, and pink, with extremely ugly bats.

"Did you make these?" asked Johannes.

"It's surprising how easy it is to knit, if you really put your mind to it," said Horst.

Johannes reexamined the sweater. The bats probably weren't meant to have so many limbs, now that he looked carefully. It was just the incompetence of the artist. "Is color-blindness a side-effect of vampirism? I ask only from scientific curiosity, you understand."

Horst's smile developed a little strain. "Go on, open your present from Father Christmas."

"You mean from you."

"From Father Christmas," repeated Horst insistently.

"Horst, there are several objections to the insipid idea that Father Christmas is himself bringing presents on Christmas Eve. First, it is mathematically impossible for one man to deliver gifts to every Christian household within the space of a few hours."

"It's probably magic," said Horst. The heads began singing _O Tannenbaum_.

"Second," persisted Johannes, "if Father Christmas did exist he would almost certainly be an avatar of Nyarlathotep, much like every other religious figure."

"I still don't entirely buy that theory," said Horst. "Seems overcomplicated to me."

"Third," Johannes counted on his fingers, "if Father Christmas truly existed in his full absurd form, I would obviously be on the naughty list."

"My god, Johannes, just open the bloody present."

Johannes did. Inside was a beautiful leather-bound notebook, and a cheap fountain pen.

"It writes in invisible ink." Horst smiled. "Give it a try."

Johannes looked at the notebook. He looked at the tree. He carefully did not look at his brother.

The heads were singing _In dulci jublio_ , somehow managing to sound like a thirty-man choir. Johannes stood up.

"I need some air," he muttered.

"Yes, it is stuffy in here," said Horst. "You go on, I'll let you know when the figgy pudding is cool enough to eat."

Johannes made his escape.

Snow was falling outside, draping the world in muted cold. The crow that mistakenly believed it was part of the Cabal household was munching happily on a ball of suet, studded with fruit. It cawed when it saw Johannes, and he made a rude gesture.

He looked out at the rolling hills that surrounded his home, and breathed in the cold air. Even the fairies were silent, probably hiding in their burrows so their wings wouldn't freeze. Johannes felt a childish urge to catch a snowflake on his tongue, just to feel it melt.

Snow was streaking his glasses, so Johannes took them off and tucked them in a pocket. Then he began to shiver, his coat forgotten inside, and he realized he was still carrying the abominable sweater...

Something was moving in the darkness when Johannes emerged from the sweater's neck hole. There were two of them, shambling stiffly and glittering.

"Is that Dennis and Denzel?" said Johannes. "Is that _tinsel_?"

Horst chuckled, and Johannes almost managed not to jump. "Don't they look festive?"

Johannes shook his head, secure in the knowledge that not even the most dedicated holidayist would call a pair of aluminum-covered zombies festive.

"The pudding's ready," said Horst. "And you're wearing your sweater, isn't that nice..."

Johannes grimaced and made no move to go inside. Dennis and Denzel continued trudging, on some unknown, probably useless, but very shiny errand.

"I didn't get you anything," he said at last.

"That's all right," said Horst. "I didn't really expect you to."

Johannes felt his face heat with old and savored anger, but he took a deep breath and let the air cool him down again.

"To be honest," said Horst, "I mostly did all of this to annoy you."

" _I knew it_ ," hissed Johannes.

"Just kidding." Horst grinned. "Come on, it's Christmas! Don't you remember when we were kids, and we'd wake up early on Christmas Eve to see if Father Christmas had come, and you'd check all of your traps outside to see if you'd caught one of the reindeer?"

"I caught a squirrel once," recalled Johannes. "Father skinned it and had it added to the Christmas roast."

"It's a magical time," said Horst. "For remembering the good, and wishing away the bad. I thought we could both use a little Christmas."

Johannes digested this. Horst did look guileless in his red snow-covered hat.

"And you wanted to annoy me," said Johannes.

"I can't believe you're wearing the sweater," said Horst. "Here, I brought a cracker."

Johannes reluctantly took one end of the offered cracker, and braced himself as Horst pulled sharply. 

The pop was quiet in the expanse, and colored paper scattered over the ground. Horst stooped to pick up the paper hat and a piece of card.

"I'm not wearing that," said Johannes.

Horst shrugged and settled the crown on top of his own hat. "How many letters are in the Christmas alphabet?"

"What?"

"That's what it says on the card, it's a joke."

Johannes counted. "Twenty, if we count 'the' as part of the phrase."

"Twenty-five," read Horst. "There's no el."

"Haha," intoned Johannes. "Very droll."

"There is an el," said Horst, puzzled. "It's in alphabet."

"No el," said Johannes, slowly. "No el. Do you see?"

"No-o." Horst peered at the card. "No el?"

"Nevermind." Johannes turned back to the house. "Let's eat your questionable pudding."

"There's nothing questionable about my pudding," said Horst absently. "No el, no el..."

Inside the heads had moved on to singing _Bier her_ , which was somehow both inappropriate and appropriate to the season.

Horst started laughing. "No el! No el! Oh, that's _awful_."

"Happy Christmas," said Johannes, finally tipping over from despair to acceptance.

"Happy Christmas," said Horst. "Oh, and I decorated your laboratory too, I hope you don't mind."

Johannes gritted his teeth and decided that he would give his brother the gift of his life this holiday season. He hoped Horst appreciated the sacrifice he was making.


End file.
